Skeptics and True Believers
by RainingMonday
Summary: AU end season 1. Addison comes to Seattle, throwing Derek and Meredith’s tranquil world into turmoil, seeking Derek’s help for their schizophrenic daughter. Somehow they must formulate some semblance of a family for the child that walks in nightmares.
1. Chapter One

**Skeptics And True Believers**

**I don't really know where this idea came from. It is probably going to be a three-shot. I hope it's not too creepy, I just watched the Ring 2 (not scary fyi). I did some research on schizophrenia to make it as accurate as possible.  
Italics are Addison's point of view, regular writing is Derek's.  
The title is from the song Skeptics And True Believers by The Academy Is …**

* * *

Don't be so scared,  
we will not lead you on like you've been doing for weeks.  
So you're selfish, and I'm sorry.  
When I'm gone you'll be going nowhere fast.  
Nowhere fast. Nowhere fast.

_When Vera was born, full of laughter and light and joy, Derek and I still had happiness. I was thirty-one, he thirty-two, and we were nearing the end of our residencies. We took her home, held her chubby little hands in ours, and praised every coo, every smile._

_Before too long, however, the doctors noticed some developmental problems. Nothing to worry about, they told us. Vera was just a late bloomer. Remembering the torture of being a geek in high school, I could sympathize. Derek, the famous neurosurgeon, was slightly more skeptical, but when the slow development did not turn out to be autism or anything serious, he settled for watching carefully, always one eye open._

_And it seemed, for a time, that our fears were groundless, that they would take to the sky and be lost forever. Vera's growth exploded. Not physically, she'd always been tiny, but mentally, intellectually, she was the smartest child I'd ever met. I was perfectly serene around her; she provided leaps and bounds of happiness in my otherwise grey days. Because that's when Derek became not distracted, but obsessed with work and I became depressed, desperate, and Vera suffered along with us … and you know the rest. I guess I should have known._

_*~*~*_

"Long day," I comment as Meredith slumps tiredly into the lobby in front of the hospital.

"Yeah," she agrees and I smile as I looked up from my laptop, appreciating the inner sparkle that seems to be transferred to everyone she encounters, and the golden brown hair that catches the light just perfectly.

"Somewhere out there there's a steak with your name on it, and maybe a bottle of wine," I say, preparing to leave on our long-awaited first date. It has taken me two months to coax Meredith to this point.

"This is why I keep you around," she jokes.

"So we need to talk," I say. So much about my past she did not know, so much I had hidden and still desired to hide. It I could have taken a giant eraser and cleaned the slate that was my life, I probably would have.

"Wine first, talk later." Always the exhausted intern, of course.

"You trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?" I ask, recalling how we met. A one night stand. Very not my style, but it was a welcome distraction from my agony, and Meredith has slowly morphed into some sort of antidote for thoughts of what used to be my life, although this was extremely unfair to her. She has the right to know.

"I think I like this rules thing," she says, and I agree as we pull on our coats. Her collar becomes tucked under, and I reach out automatically to correct this, brushing the fine skin of her collarbone as I do.

It is only after this that I turn, see her. The effect is similar to being drenched in icy water, because shock isn't hot, it creeps over you, freezing you with cold. My vows cut me like fine wire. This doesn't fit, my brain protests. Addison cannot be here, a disharmonious chord in the new life I have built without her, a life strewn with forgotten memories, regrets, and a whole bucket of angst, but a new life just the same. As my old life clashes with my new, I know chaos will be born; nothing will ever be the same …

"Meredith, I'm so sorry," I mutter.

I could not and still cannot say that Addison was not beautiful, because it would be the most blasphemous lie. Her fiery hair is curled to perfection; her red lips could have tempted even the most virtuous angel. But where there had once been absolute strength and independence, I now perceive fragility. Her features are composed in a mask I know so well, yet there is a flaw, a slip in her disguise, and I see right through it. Addison is terrified.

Not of Meredith, surely. Meredith is still staring, unsure who this gorgeous redheaded siren is. But as Addison approaches, I see a small figure that sets my heart pounding: Vera.

My daughter, whom I had abandoned in New York, clutches at Addison, and Addison holds her just as fiercely. Something about Vera is not quite right either: her green blue eyes, so like my wife's, are never still, and they linger in strange places, like she is seeing things I cannot. Always small, Vera looks alarmingly skinny now, and so tiny in Addison's arms. No, while at another time, in an alternate universe, Addison would have surely come up with some snarky comment to introduce herself to Meredith, she only stands there now.

"Addison," I say. They seem to be the only words I could manage. "What are you doing here?"

"Vera," Addison says, still appraising Meredith and I but not addressing us, "Mommy needs to talk to Daddy for a second." _Daddy. _Meredith's eyes widen, her mouth falling open, staring between me and Addison, but she seems frozen to the spot and there's nothing I can say to make this better that wouldn't be a lie. "There's nothing scary here, I promise," she continues, and sets Vera on the ground. Vera's small flowered boots hit the floor, and she reluctantly lets go of Addison. Her are huge as she looked at me, betrayed, forsaken … Guilt has my heart in an iron fist. Still, she says nothing. This is strange. Vera was a talker ... at least she was when I knew her two months ago.

"What?" I snap at Addison once Vera has sidled slightly off to the side. "What could you possibly have to say to me?" As she straightens, I catch a glimpse of something else. A subtle bump under the black silk blouse. This must be a dream, I tell myself. It can't be true; I ran away, so far away and shut the door on my pursuing past. Apparently I am about to become a daddy all over again, or maybe, and the thought makes me go red with rage, maybe Mark is instead.

She doesn't mention the baby, however, when she speaks. "Vera was diagnosed with early onset schizophrenia seven days ago," she whispers in a broken voice, and I feel like someone has punched me in the stomach. She isn't here to disturb my Seattle utopia with Meredith; she is here to tell me personally that our daughter, our beautiful, wonderful, six year old daughter has a severe mental disorder. "I need you, Derek."

"You're married?" Meredith asks, her voice a wisp of sound in the living, breathing hospital, seeking to confirm her fear that now seems so insignificant in the face of my daughter's illness. "You have a wife … and a daughter, who's sick." Addison's hand flutters to her stomach as Meredith speaks, and I wonder whether she is perhaps feeling the baby's movements, feeling it kick … "And … you're …" Meredith chokes, eyes having followed her hand. "Pregnant," she finishes in a whisper.

"Mine or Mark's?" is all I have to say, and I can't deny that I am satisfied by Addison's flinch.

"Yours, of course," she answers. "I'm four months pregnant, Derek; you only left two months ago. Congratulations," she says, but her voice is sarcastic. It's too much for me to take in, right now, too much to fathom. I pretend that the child growing in Addison's womb does not exist, because insanity will become my constant companion otherwise.

"Mom!" Vera calls, as if to endorse Addison's earlier reveal. "Look, butterflies!" My six year old is pointing at empty air, a wondrous expression on her face, and the weight of the word schizophrenia settles in. Hallucinations. Delusions. Paranoia.

"Honey, there are no butterflies!" Addison says, her voice made sharp by fear.

"Yes there _are_, Mommy," Vera says, her voice strangely flat. "Right there." My eyes travel down her skinny white arm, adorned with a few beaded bracelets, onto nothing. There are, of course, no butterflies. But it is also apparent that Vera can see them perfectly clearly.

"Oh. I see them now," Addison lies, to comfort the little girl before the spectacle gets out of hand. "They're lovely, sweetie."

"Oh my God," are my only words. My daughter hallucinates. Sees things that aren't there. Schizophrenia … although I do not have a degree in psychiatry, I did study many neurological disorders extensively, to better understand what went on in my area of study, the brain. Schizophrenia is chronic, very difficult to diagnose in children, especially those under seven … and although it can be treated, it cannot be cured.

My thoughts are interrupted by a moan. Vera is still staring into open space, but her expression has become terrified and she runs toward Addison, her little hands clutching my wife's skirt. "The butterflies are being eaten by dogs," Vera sobs. "They have long teeth and their heads are upside down."

"They're not really there, honey," Addison murmurs, picking her up again. Vera buries her head in Addison's neck, and I remember what it is like to do just that, and how intoxicating her perfume smells …

"I can _see _them, Mommy," Vera says, but she closes her eyes tightly, like this can shut out an unfriendly and mysterious world. Her breathing evens, and as I watch she falls gently towards slumber on Addison's shoulder. I wonder if our other child is sleeping as well.

"She saw dragons on the plane," Addison tells me, and only then do I realize that Meredith has disappeared. "What did we do wrong, Derek?"

*~*~*

_It started when Derek began missing dinner. Well, maybe I can't say that. It wasn't his fault, at least not entirely, because Vera had always been … a little odd. I tried valiantly to keep track of all her imaginary friends but there were just too many. Sometimes, when she spoke of them, she seemed so far away, but I told myself they were just children's games, games that by the time you are an adult, you have forgotten how to play._

_There was more, now, and I partially blame myself. Derek has fourteen nieces and nephews, but Vera would never have anything to do with them. She'd stare, from the corner, simply watching them play, never joining in, no matter how much Derek or Carolyn or I coaxed her. Nancy's daughter, Kailey, is exactly Vera's age, but Kailey has always refused to play with her … because Vera tells "scary stories."_

_So, our daughter was strange. She was still brilliant, wonderful, amazing. She curled up to me on our couch on those cold winter days when Derek was absent. But as my husband drew farther and farther away, called by the hospital at all hours of the night, Vera became more distant as well. I'd call her, and she wouldn't be able to hear me. She'd walk around our house, shaking from sightless fears._

_The night Derek left, she had screaming nightmares. Mark and I restrained her, tried to help, to do anything, but she saw right past us, to those dream-infested phantoms who were "trying to get her."_

_*~*~*_

The ride to the hotel is completely and utterly silent. Vera is totally out now, sleeping against ice cold window of the car, her flushed cheek sticking to it. I am struck again by how young she looks for six years old, how unfair it is that she has suffered and will suffer more.

I can hardly look at Addison as we drive through the rain. It is difficult, because even the simplest gestures, itching her nose or tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, highlight how indescribably beautiful she is. Like a freaking angel, practically, and Vera looks just like her. But Addison has fallen, fallen from grace and heaven; she's Satan in my eyes now.

I carry Vera into the hotel, Addison purchases a room with her platinum credit card, and we make the awkward journey up the elevator. When the doors close and we begin to ascend, I think involuntarily of Meredith. Will she ever forgive me?

The room is white and bland yet comfortable, with an emerald plant marking the only color in the monochrome room. Addison pulls off Vera's boots and jacket and tucks her under the covers, pulling them up to her tiny pointed chin. Vera moans slightly in her sleep and Addison hovers, obviously worried, but our daughter's beatific face is peaceful and after a minute Addison sinks onto the second bed, leaving me standing by the door.

She discards her heels onto the floor beside Vera's boots and leans back against the pillows, but her stature is tense, perhaps she is waiting for either an apology or an explosion. But she gets none. Her hand moves to her belly, which at second glance looks abnormally small for 16 weeks into a pregnancy. "What now?" she wants to know, her voice dull.

I think for a minute. She cheated; she should be the one with the answers. I want to be rid of this mess forever, I want a new life, bright and shiny and new and not tainted with unpleasant memories. "I want a divorce," I say. "You and Vera and the … you can all stay here, I don't care. We'll get treatment for Vera. But I want a divorce."

"I have papers." She holds up a black briefcase and pulls a sheaf of paper from it.

I take them; tuck them away for later, because signing away my wife and effectively my daughter is harder and more nightmarish at second thought. Every birthday, celebrated with cake bought from a bakery around the corner, gone. Every Christmas, spent drinking juju over looking the snow swathed city, gone. Eleven years of us married, six of us with our daughter. None with our coming child.

The hotel room has a coffee maker, and Addison flits toward it before hesitating, her hand on her stomach. "We should talk," she says. "If you really want a divorce … we need to figure out what to do about Vera and …" She doesn't say 'baby' either. "Do you want some coffee?"

I shrug, anything to prolong what's coming. Her hands move quickly, deftly, and she remembers how I like my coffee, with cream and a dash of sugar. I almost hate her for it. I sink into the single white armchair in the room while she returns to the bed coffee-less and looking a little nauseous.

"You left us," she says.

"You slept with Mark!" I yell back, unable to believe that she is trying to blame this on me.

"Because you weren't there, Derek, you were never there! I watched our daughter go crazy right in front of my eyes and you missed every appointment I scheduled with a counselor for _someone else's surgery_!" she replies, vermilion hair in tangles around her face.

"I couldn't do it," I whisper. "You said she was disturbed, and I just couldn't watch."

"So you left me to do it," she finishes. "Lovely. How this will bolster your good guy persona," she rants sarcastically.

"We weren't the same, Addison." And I couldn't come home and face her eyes, huge in her pale white face, begging me to be home once in a while, nor my daughter's sightless visions, her wandering, babbling. I don't say this, but she infers it.

"So you avoided me instead of trying to fix it."

"And you slept with my best friend thinking that _would _fix it."

"He tucked Vera in to bed for two months, every day, before I slept with him. He was acting as my husband. I know you think I chose Mark to spite you, but really it was because … sometimes he reminds me of you," Addison says, but I won't afford her this one last thing, forgiveness. Because if I do, maybe I will find her red lips tantalizing instead of repulsive, and I'll begin to long for the New York brownstone that is my home, and I'll want to erase Mark's touches from Addison's bare body with my own.

And that can't happen. I won't give in and I won't go back.

"I'll pull some strings, schedule an appointment for tomorrow," I say. "I have to go check on Richard now … and we should stop by tomorrow, with Vera." I catch Addison's barely perceptible nod as I edge towards the door; she looks well on her way to the dreamland where Vera already sleeps.

But I do not go to check on Richard, like I told Addison. Instead I traverse the winding roads to Meredith's house, seeking some kind of atonement for what I've done. She's a breath of fresh air in an otherwise oxygen-less world consisting of my failed marriage and mentally disturbed daughter.

I knock, and when the door opens, I get the briefest glimpse of angry brown eyes before the door slams in my face. Apparently Meredith told Izzie, I think as I hear soft voices through the door. It opens again, and I am face to face with George. He glares and shuts the door again. So much for being liked by the interns.

There is a creak, and a gap appears between door and doorframe a third time. It is finally Meredith, her hair rumpled and her Dartmouth t-shirt hanging around her skinny frame.

We stare at each other for a minute, both unsure how we will breach this chasm of wordlessness and secrets. "Mer, I am so, so sorry," I begin.

"Don't," she says. "Save it, Derek. I don't want to hear it."

"I was going to tell you," I protest. "I didn't know Addie and Vera would show up."

"That's the thing, Derek. If I mattered to you, if I was more than just an escape, you would have already told me," Meredith said. Her voice is unbending, firm, but I can hear the sadness it carries.

"Listen," I say desperately. "Addison and I are getting a divorce. Two months ago I walked into my house and ... Something was different. I knew what I would find, besides my daughter sleeping fitfully. But then I recognized the jacket I stepped on. It belonged to Mark, who happened to be my best friend. And I walked in on them in bed together."

"But ... Why?" Meredith asks. "If Addison was already upset about Vera, why would she sleep with Mark?"

"I guess I was just ... a little absent," I admitted. "But it doesn't excuse what she did. And I came out here and met you, and you're everything I needed."

"You're really getting a divorce?" she asks weakly.

"Yes," I reply softly.

"But what about the baby?" Meredith asks, and she is braver than both me and Addison for saying what we won't.

"I don't know, Mer. But please, just … don't write me off," I say before backing away and heading down the porch steps. For two months life was easy … and now I don't even know what I want anymore.

I sleep fitfully in the trailer, the patter of rain sending my brain spinning into odd, freakish dreams that I attempt to forget as soon as I wake up. Vera is warm in my arms when we enter the hospital the next morning after treading through frosty grass, her legs wrapped around my waist like a much smaller child. Addison walks a bit to the side of us, and I wonder at this until Vera begins to speak.

"Daddy?" she asks. "Why did you leave me?"

"I'm sorry, baby," I choke. "So sorry."

"Why didn't you want me and Mommy anymore?" Vera wants to know, and I try to ignore the way her voice is flat, a dreadful monotone instead of the way she used to cheerfully babble.

"I'll always want you, Ver," I promise. "I love you, you know that."

"Is it because I see things? I won't see them anymore if you stay, Daddy. You can protect them from getting me."

"Protect you from who?" I ask her.

"Sometimes they talk to me," she whispers. "And they say they're coming to get me."

"They're not real," I tell her firmly, as if saying it aloud will make it truer in her monster-infested mind.

"Then why do they talk to me and you won't? Why do they visit me and you ran away?" she sniffles.

"They're not going to talk to you anymore Vera. And I'm not going anywhere ever again," I promise her. "We're going to see some people who will help you not see things. Is that okay?" I ask.

"Like me and Mom went to last week? He asked me lots of questions," Vera said.

*~*~*

_I would have said that it was the sound of soft sobbing, coming from somewhere in the empty hole of a house where I still somehow existed, that woke me, but that would have been a lie, because I'd been awake for hours. It had taken me a long time to drag myself away from the banister by the door, because my husband wasn't coming back. Not after what I'd done. _

_Sleep evaded me, punishing me perhaps, and I could not delude myself that I did not deserve to burn in hell. Because when Derek missed Vera's appointment with the psychiatrist for a clipped aneurism, like he'd done dozens of times, I snapped. Mark was there. Mark held her hand while we waited and while I apologized and said that my husband wasn't able to make it._

_That's when it occurred to me that Mark was a better husband than Derek lately. Why that led to sleeping with him in Derek's and my bed, midnight already passed and blue shadows creeping over silent furniture, I still have no idea. I felt empty, like Derek took my heart with him wherever he went and all my other organs paraded out after it. I suppose Lucifer might have felt the same when he Fell._

_I pulled myself out of bed, still clad in Derek's Columbia t-shirt, and hunted for the mysterious sound in the moonlight clad house. It felt all wrong without Derek, like a setting for a horror movie, but I told myself that that was silly and continued._

_I think my heart stopped that night when I saw Vera. In fact, I didn't even register at first that it was her. She looked like the ghost of a tortured soul, all bone white skin and terrified expression. Her small body was curled into a tight ball in the hall between the laundry room and the living room. The tile froze my feet. Her sobs echoed through the house, and I figured she must have known what had passed between Derek and me._

"_Vera?" I asked, unable to keep the terror from my voice but trying to stay calm. "What are you doing up at midnight?"_

_I will never, ever forget her words, probably not even in death. "They're coming to get me," she sobbed. "I can't stop them."_

"_Who, honey?" I demanded. "Who is coming?"_

_Her eyes, the exact same azure shade as mine, filled with confusion. "They're coming for me," she repeats. "They always watch me. I hear them talk. Now they're coming!"_

"_No one's coming," I promised, sinking down beside her and pulling her frail body into my arms. "I've got you. You just had a bad dream, sweetie."_

"_I have bad dreams a lot," she said. "Even when I'm awake." _

_*~*~*_

I can literally feel Addison shaking as we approach the door. As much as I wish I could easily discard fourteen years of knowing her, split into two years of dating, one year of engagement, and eleven years of marriage, I cannot. She is afraid of what will be said in his room, of what will be revealed. I'm just as terrified.

"Drs. Shepherd," a man greets as we walk through the door. He has warm brown eyes and hair to match, and soft, nondescript features. He wears a designer button up shirt, but the sleeves are rolled up. "I'm Dr. Nguyen. Nice to meet you." He shakes Addison's hand first, which she has to unwrap from around her midsection, and then mine. He is a child specialist, the best on the west coast and I called in countless favors to get this appointment.

"This must be Vera," Dr. Nguyen says, smiling down at her. She doesn't smile back, but her sweaty grip on my hand tightens. He isn't fazed, he gestures toward the couch in the room, and Addison and I sit a comfortable distance apart, Vera between us. There are toys and mind games littering the floor, enough to tempt any child, but Vera's eyes pass right over them.

"Now, at this first appointment, we're just going to try and hammer out some history. I'd like to ask you a few questions about Vera's childhood, and then I'm going to speak to her alone." Addison nods, perfectly attentive, but my thoughts wander towards Meredith. Is she here yet, perhaps scrubbing in on a surgery that is not mine?

Dr. Nguyen picks through every detail of Vera's six years, and Addison and I collaborate, answering as best as we can. We are, for a few minutes, reunited as an unbreakable team, just two parents fighting for their child. Is it wrong, I wonder, for me to ignore the fact that I have another child coming?

He asks what she was like as a baby, when she said her first word, when she took her first step. He wants to know what foods she liked and didn't like, about childhood acquaintances, where she went when we were both in surgery, where she was conceived. It awakens a flood of pleasant memories, dappled in sunlight and the green grass of Central Park, and I finally realize what giving up Addison will mean. It will mean indirectly giving up Vera, my unborn child, a part of me that they all hold; my resolve wavers.

Finally, after divulging for what feels like hours, Dr. Nguyen asks gently and carefully about our separation. Addison explains, in terms Vera will not be able to decipher, how our marriage crumbled and she ended up sleeping with Mark. I am surprised that she so willingly admits to it, and that she cries as she does. Involuntarily I reach for her hand. Comforting the devil. One of her hands rests in mine behind Vera's straight back, the other on our baby.

Dr. Nguyen cannot fail to notice this, and Addison confirms that we are indeed expecting a second child. I look at my daughter's face and realize she has no idea what we're talking about. I suspect she's not even hearing us.

"What if … will the baby be schizophrenic too?" Addison wants to know, and I feel, if possible, worse than I did before.

"It's possible, since he or she has a sibling that is, but not probable," Dr. Nguyen says, and I am reassured. "Now I'd like to speak to Vera, but first, I have some homework for you two before I see you next week. I'd like you to research your family histories and see if you can find anyone else with schizophrenia. Also, if you could provide a list of family, friends and teachers that I can contact for more information, that would be great."

I write down my mother, sisters, Savvy and Weiss, (grudgingly) Mark, Vera's first grade and kindergarten teachers, Sam and Naomi, and the daycare at Mt. Sinai. Sympathy twists inside me as I realize we have no one younger than adults to write down, because Vera doesn't have any friends who will willingly play with her. Then we both stand, and I hug Vera's tense shoulders tightly while Addison kisses her forehead. "We love you," she whispers.

We are almost to the door when Vera turns to acknowledge us. "Where are you going?" she asks, and I realize that she suspects we are abandoning her again.

"You're just going to talk to this man," I say. "He'll help you, Ver, okay? We'll be right outside."

"Promise, Daddy?"

"I promise."

"You can call me Dr. Caleb if you like," Dr. Nguyen offers as we leave. There is a grey velvet couch outside and Addison sinks onto it, her back pressed up against the wall. I sit next to her, trying to sort out conflicting feelings, and because of that it is several minutes before I notice that Addison is crying quietly.

When your child is sick, all rules can be broken, because you do anything to stem the freely flowing worry. For a moment, it doesn't matter that Addison slept with Mark and let his hands roam all over her cream skin and she opened her legs for him on our bed. It doesn't matter that the life we built, the things that happened all because two people fell in love, are crumbling. All that matters are my sure and steady hands, pulling her body against my chest and swinging her legs over my lap so I can cradle her like a small child.

Mascara stains my charcoal sweater, but I couldn't care less. I just let Addison cry. She tries to hide it from Dr. Nguyen's secretary, who sits calmly at her desk, but she has a stuffy nose and her cries are choked and loud. Even when she calms I don't relinquish my hold because my body is screaming that this is right, perfectly right. So for the first time, I put my hand on her rounded stomach. I hate to admit it, but the bump is kind of cute.

Her crying breaks the part of my heart that still has fissures from her betrayal; a part that I thought had hardened into stone. She outdoes every expectation, disproves every prediction. If I love Meredith so much, why do I feel like a failure when I hold a broken Addison?

"Did you sign the papers?" she wants to know once she has wiped her eyes and found some semblance of tranquility.

"No," I say.

"Why?" she asks incredulously.

"Because …" But I can't explain, because it is partially incomprehensible even to me. "Because I don't know if I can," I finally tell her. "And because I don't know if I want to. Signing away fourteen years of my life and part of myself, well, I'm not sure that I'll be able to, Addison. And I'm mad as hell that you slept with my best friend, but … things were bad all around. I don't know if I can forgive you yet. I guess I just need a little time."

"Time," Addison replies slowly, her head in my sweater. "Okay. You can have all the time in the world because I will not be able to sign those papers unless you do. And if you do … we'll have to still be in the same place because Vera needs you."

"I'm not going anywhere," I tell her, just like I told Vera a few hours ago. Her hair is trailing over my shoulder, her designer skirt riding up from her awkward cradle in my lap. I can see a sliver of skin just where her stomach begins to curve and I slide my thumb over it, reveling in its softness. How Addison can be so broken and together at the same time I cannot fathom, but it's part of the reason I love her. I still love her and part of me needs her and maybe it always will.

We're lost in a dark wonderland and we don't know where we're going. Addison and I, we hit walls, searching for our children, being hindered by Meredith and Mark. Our hands are clasped, but shadows engulf us and we let go. We stumble, lost, and then find each other again. This time, only our fingertips touch, but it might just be enough for forever.

I am content until Meredith invades my thoughts, standing still and vulnerable before me. This is the way my life works. What would she say if she discovered me and Addison's entwined bodies, my hand on my baby, Addison's head in the crook of my neck?

My heart rips. How to choose? The woman that is easy, fun, and makes perfect sense, or the one who drives me insane and away but just brings me back for more pleasure with a side of agony?

Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?  
'Cause I wouldn't believe you if you said the same to me.  
Near death, last breath, and barely hanging on.  
Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?

* * *

**So ... what did you all think? It was long, I know, I applaud you for getting through it. Let me know if you think I should continue.**

* * *


	2. Chapter Two

**Skeptics And True Believers**

**Wow. You guys were amazing with the reviews. Here is the second chapter for you, I thought it would be shorter but it's really not :)**

* * *

Don't be so scared to take a second for reflection,  
to take a leave of absence, see what you're made of.  
So I'm selfish and you're sorry?  
When I'm gone you'll be going nowhere fast.  
So who's selfish and who's sorry?

Everyone, and I mean _everyone _stares as we descend the stairs into the general bustle of the hospital. Mouths fall open, whispers pass through open air; expressions betray shock, chagrin, anger, betrayal.

I know what they are saying, although of course I can't hear them. _McDreamy has a wife. McDreamy has a daughter. His kid has schizophrenia. His wife is pregnant. She cheated on him; he calls her Satan. McDreamy is a McMess. _It may be cruel, but all the things they say are undeniably true.

I am holding Vera, who is pale and shaking from her interview, although she seemed to like Dr. Nguyen as far as I can tell. Vera's claret hair curls softly around her slightly freckled face which exudes extreme susceptibility; for all that she is more beautiful than any painting. Her skinny grasshopper legs are wrapped so tightly around me that I doubt setting her down is an option. Dr. Nguyen told us he is going to prescribe antipsychotics for her. The different kinds have a multitude of side effects, from fevers to depression to weight gain.

I feel like I have been thrust onto a brightly lit stage with no choice in the matter. Addison looks even more uncomfortable, because some of the stares she is receiving are downright hostile, riddled with judgment and hate. The cacophony of noise that is usually present is stymied by a blanket woven of scandal and the opportunity for excellent gossip.

"Dr. Shepherd?" Dr. Bailey is the first one to speak, never having been known for eloquence or timidity. I usually admire her straightforward attitude; for all that she sometimes threatens me. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Uh, now is really not the best time," I say.

"Well, you were supposed to do a craniotomy this morning and my interns were supposed to watch. Since you weren't there, however, I had to find other people for those fools to bother," she snaps at me.

"Sorry," I manage. I need to talk to Addison and I need to talk to Meredith and I need to do it before Vera becomes alarmed by the situation we're in.

"And if you take one step towards Meredith Grey today, I swear to God I will castrate you," Bailey promises. "I'm sorry, I don't think we're met," she says, extending a hand to Addison, who shakes it quickly. "Miranda Bailey."

"Addison Shepherd," Addison whispers, obviously slightly self-conscious about using that name in a hallway full of antagonistic strangers who probably bet their life savings on me marrying Meredith.

"Pleasure," Bailey replies, but her eyes are on Vera. Comparing her, I am sure, to me and Addison.

"Dr. Bailey, I have the labs for Ms. Ferguson," Alex Karev says. He glares at me with unadulterated disgust, and I realize he must have been closer to Meredith than I knew. Bailey nods and looks them over before sending him on his way. "Dickhead," he mutters as he leaves. Izzie and George are whispering a few feet away, their eyes on Addison, but I scan the crowd for Meredith. Cristina shakes her head when she catches my eye but I ignore her, searching for that head of rumpled blonde waves.

I start towards Meredith when I finally spot her, standing on the fringe, observing but unwilling to be involved. She must know what people are saying about her, about us, about our sickly twisted love triangle, and I don't know how to apologize for the damage. I have not gone more than two feet, however, before there is a pained moaning sound, and Addison is at my side before I can blink.

"Derek, let's go," she says.

"I have to work," I argue.

"Derek," she hisses. "For once in your life think about your daughter please."

I take one look and Vera and then lunge away from the crowd hurriedly, but it is too late. Vera thrashes in my arms, tiny sharp nails raising red welts on my forearms, and I almost drop her in shock. Her eyes are blank, sightless, and I want to retch with dread when I see this. Then she screams.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" she cries. "Go away!"

Addison spirits Vera away from me, settling her on the nearest unoccupied expanse of floor where she cannot hurt anybody. "Sweetie, what is it?" she asks. "Talk to me."

But Vera says nothing. How can she? She can't see me nor my wife nor the crowd of onlookers, faces alight with horrified fascination. Furious at their indiscretion, I drop to my knees beside my daughter as well, the helplessness nearly drowning me. A parent's job is to protect, guide, and nurture a child. But how can you protect from what you cannot see, and how can you nurture when you cannot protect?

"They're here for me!" Vera shrieks. "No, no, please, go away, let me go back!" She twists out of Addison's hold, bruising her elbows and banging her head on the linoleum. It is painfully pathetic to watch, and I feel like crying. "I can't help you!" Vera yells. "Go away; leave me alone, _I can't help you! _You're _dead_!"

Suddenly Vera goes limp, and Addison scoops her up hastily. People mill around the lobby, blocking any chance for a quick exit, so I lead them deeper into the hospital. We traverse the halls, practically running, and I lead them into the first sanctuary I see: Richard's room.

"How long has it been like this?" I pant.

"Ever since you left," she says as I push open the door and we collapse inside. Addison sets Vera on the only available chair.

"Addison!" Richard cries delightedly, sitting up quickly to embrace her. Adele steps forward as well, smiling widely, and Addison falls into her hug, fighting tears. "How are you?" Richard wants to know.

"I'm …" but she cannot seem to find words appropriate to express her feelings. Probably assuming it has something to do with our marriage, Richard lets it go.

"And this must be Vera!" Adele exclaims. "She's gotten so big. Do you remember me, sweetie?"

No answer. Vera is seeing something, but whatever it is, it clearly isn't us. Her pink lips are slightly parted and her expression is fierce, like she's fighting off unseen demons, and Adele and Richard both look taken aback when they notice this. She raises one trembling hand and sweeps it through the air, touching something we cannot see.

"Honey?" Addison ventures. "Can you say hi to Adele and Richard?"

There is no response, so I say quietly, "Vera is schizophrenic. Addison just found out a week ago. I found out yesterday. We don't know what she's seeing right now."

"Well my god!" Adele exclaims. "You two are in way over your heads, with sorting out your marriage and all. And with another baby on the way. You let us know if you need any help, you hear?" Adele says to Addison, who is looking dazed. Repairing our marriage … despite what had occurred outside Dr. Nguyen's office, I have made no conscious decision to do so. Doubt and indecision gnaw at my insides.

*~*~*

_It wasn't that Derek and I had decided not to have any more children, I thought as I stared down at the pregnancy test. In fact, at one point in time, when we were younger and not so jaded, we thought we'd have a whole horde of children. But being a doctor does not afford you much free time, and although we'd tried for Vera, we made no conscious effort for another child._

_It figured, then, that two days after my husband hightailed off into the country I would find that he knocked me up again. The plus on my pregnancy test was looking pretty solid, as far as I could tell._

"_Shit," I breathed, leaning back and hitting my head on the tiled wall of the Mt. Sinai bathrooms. Derek was gone. I'd unceremoniously kicked Mark out after Derek left. Vera alternated between sane and deranged, and it was all I could do to get her into the Mt. Sinai daycare anymore. She frightened the other children, they told me._

_And now I was pregnant. Carolyn was the only one who knew where Derek had gone, and although she might have told me where he was if she knew a second grandchild was on the way, I didn't think I'd be able to face her fussing over Vera and disapproval over my affair. No, I was well and completely alone._

_Fairytales are like fruit, I decided as I wrote the pregnancy test off as faulty and planned to get a blood test instead. They're pretty and shiny and sweet and first, and you bite into them with vigor. But they rot before too long, inside first and then outside, and nothing, not even the most succulent apple or flawless love story, can resist decay._

_I'm sure that Derek and I had always appeared to have the ideal life. But that's the thing about illusions: You always want to see through them until you actually do._

*~*~*

I learn, in those first few weeks in which Addison purchases a penthouse apartment and I find myself there more than I plan or want, that the only constant thing is time. My feelings about both Addison and Meredith ebb and flow, cycles that I cannot keep track of and that confuse me beyond measure. The only sure thing is the passing of time, day by bewildering day, week by uproarious week.

Meredith is cautious around me, but she seems to believe what I said about getting a divorce. Our time together at the hospital begins to resemble what it had been before Addison's existence was thrown into light. We smile, fight, and occasionally, kiss in elevators. There is only one difference. And that is that guilt has latched onto me like an insistent parasite, and there is no removing it.

Addison is a completely different story. We usually avoid each other in her modern apartment overlooking the twinkling lights of Seattle, but there are instances when our old life rears its face. Like when she pours three bowls of cereal instead of two, or tosses the sports section of the newspaper over the counter and I catch it in my favorite armchair. Or when, once Vera has gone to bed, we watch the ten o'clock news and heatedly discuss events until one of us remembers that she slept with Mark, and we fall silent.

Vera is what keeps us on our toes and forms the crux of all our worries. Dr. Nguyen prescribes antipsychotics at a very low dosage, as they are known to cause severe depression in young children. The problem is that she isn't responding to them as well as we all hoped. There are other, more dangerous types to try, but instead I pray that this kind will kick in and she'll be the bubbly, sparkling child I once knew.

One day I let myself in to Addison and Vera's apartment to find it empty. It still feels weird to use a key to get in, and to not actually live here, but moving in with Addie requires a choice between her and Meredith and I'm sure as hell not ready for that yet.

"Addison?" I call. "Vera?" There is no answer, but faint noises drift out from Addison's room, so I follow my ears into the lavish bedroom. Addison and Vera are sprawled on the bed, watching a movie I recognize as Monsters, Inc., which in Vera's case reeks of irony. Addison is eating lasagna, balancing it on her expanded stomach, cheese trailing from her plate to her fork. It looks kind of cute, I dare to realize.

Vera has gummy bears crammed into her small, sticky hands and she is lining them up on Addison's duvet by color. At first I think she doesn't notice me, but she pops up with a sudden, "Hi, Daddy," sounding almost like her old self.

"Hey, baby," I respond, bending to press my lips to her forehead, brushing her hair out of the way as I do. It sticks out at odd angles and there are purple circles under her eyes that bespeak of nights cast with hallucinations, and my concern peaks. Vera doesn't deserve this. I don't think any child does.

"Vera, did you clean your room?" Addison asks; her voice far-off and diluted with exhaustion. I realize that she must not be getting much more sleep than Vera with the screaming nightmares that go on here at night.

"Yes," Vera replies, but there's something about her voice, monotonous as it is, that sets off alarm bells. She's clearly lying, but there's something more, something almost … sinister in her eyes. Addison catches it too and we both stand, heading for the door.

Some of Vera's stuff has been shipped from New York, most likely by Savvy or my mother, but it seems that Addison has also been shopping, because I don't recognize her pale pink gossamer bedspread or green princess curtain. Addison treads first across the white carpet, and I see that Vera has not cleaned her room at all. Toys still litter the floor, and I am about to call her to reprimand her when Addison gasps.

Barbies are sprawled all over, which wouldn't seem out of place except for the fact that they are all missing their heads. Vera must have pulled them off. The heads smile creepily, tangled hair around their faces, and the sight is almost obscene. I walk forward, stumbling over a toy as I do. It is a miniscule bobble headed plastic panda. Its eyes have been blacked out by sharpie. All Vera's other Littlest Pet Shop toys have met the same fate, and her stuffed animals are missing eyes and limbs.

My daughter's room has been transformed into a graveyard for toys and I no longer know what she's capable of.

"Mr. Swimmers," Addison says, and this comment is so odd and out of context that I can only stare for a minute.

Then I remember. "Vera's goldfish?" I ask. I recall attempting to inspire my six year old to choose a different name as we bent over shimmering orange fish, but she wouldn't budge.

"I found him floating belly-up in his bowl the day before we came here," Addison tells me. "I thought … well, I thought that it was just some random thing, but Vera acted so weird when I told her, she didn't even cry. Why … why the hell would she do this?" Addison half sobs, staring out over the mess. Few toys are left unscathed, although Vera apparently didn't touch the furniture.

"They needed my help," comes the tinkling, bell-like answer from behind us. Addison and I both turn, startled, to see Vera outlined in the doorway. Her face betrays no emotion, but her eyes glitter. "They wanted to die," she says.

And for the first time, I am not only scared for my daughter but scared _of _her.

The sessions with Dr. Nguyen continue, and he seems as worried about Vera as both Addison and I are. We all try to find the trigger for schizophrenia, anything that might betray the reason why my daughter is mentally ill. "Were there any instances of abuse during her childhood?" Dr. Nguyen asks us one day. "Physical, sexual … anything?"

"No," Addison whispers brokenly. "At least, none that we know of."

"There was that one time when that park she was visiting in kindergarten was bombed," I remind her. "But I don't think an isolated incident like that could bring it on. None of the kids were hurt." I have feared, for the last few days, that I know what might have caused it, but it is the first time I have voiced these fears aloud.

"Dr. Nguyen, did I … when I left, did that cause … did that make it worse?"

His eyes are full of a sympathy I'm unsure how to accept, but his voice is level and honest. "It may have pushed it to the point where the symptoms became recognizable. It made it worse, but it also enabled us to diagnose her. You could have saved her life."

"Of course, she might have been fine if you didn't leave at all," Addison points out.

"Everything might have been fine if you didn't sleep with my best friend," I snap back.

"Are you going to throw that in my face forever?" she yells.

"You know what, I just might!" I tell her, incensed. So far, Dr. Nguyen has endured these little spats with calm patience, sometimes even playing referee even though he specializes in children. I've told him I might be divorcing Addison, Addison has told him she can't take me being absent and neither can Vera.

"Sorry about that," she says as we exit. "It was … inappropriate for me to say that in there." Vera is laying on the velvet couch in a loose fetal position and Addison lifts her gently, slightly out of breath because Vera makes no move to help her.

"Okay," I agree, because right now, I really need a break from Addison and the tangled web of problems she represents.

"Hey," she says, laying her hand on my arm. "I was thinking maybe you, me, and Vera could …"

"Not now," I respond, a reflex reaction, but there's no way I miss the hurt on Addison's face. That was my favorite phrase in New York and I can feel her eyes boring into my back as I walk away, I know I cut her deeply. But still I leave, abandon her there in the office. I'm not always the good guy I pretend to be.

I do my best by Vera, I truly do, but her lack of response is bone-chilling to even Addison and I. At first there are a plethora of interns volunteering to watch her during surgeries, because Addison has started working at Seattle Grace, but after a week Izzie is the only one offering for reasons other than to suck up.

Disturbing and remote as Vera is, I can't say she is unaware of the events revolving around her. One day I take her to the park near the hospital, with an intricate, multi-colored jungle gym and several slides, but she refuses to play, instead sitting beside me on the dew-beaded bench.

"Vera," I say as we watch kids do more and more daring tricks between the bars, and one falls onto the wood chip covered ground. "Why don't you go play, baby?"

It takes her a while to answer, but I'm patient because minutes are sometimes required for a one-word response. "No, thank you," she tells me finally. Her body, adorned in floral smocked dress, is unnaturally still, like Vera is a turtle retreating into her shell. I feel so sorry for her, watching the other kids pull away from her cold little hands, that I do not push her.

"Daddy?" she asks a few minutes later. "Why am I a freak?"

Her words remind me that she is no older than six years old, and yet she can sense how she's not like the other kids. The air becomes hard to breathe, because when your child hurts, you hurt as well. "You're not a freak," I promise her. "What makes you say that? Did somebody say that to you?"

"No," she whispers, her voice thin and strangled in the cool sunset, shadows beginning to creep over the grass. I cannot tell if this is the truth or not. "But I'm not like everybody else, and that means I'm a freak."

"Being different isn't bad," I say. "And it doesn't mean you're a freak."

"Charlie at daycare said that I belong in a loony bin. And Aubrey said that I'm a monster. I just told them about the things I see, because they asked," Vera says.

"Honey -" I begin. My heart aches for her, and I wish I could do anything to take her place, anything to shield her from the naïve cruelty of children.

"I hear voices," she tells me. "And I see things that you and Mommy can't see and I have to see a special doctor and I just want all of them to leave me alone!" she cries. Her head falls against my arm and I hold her tightly as she sobs, her small body wracked with spasms with sadness.

"That just means you're special. The most special girl in the world," I whisper gently in her ear. But I can tell she doesn't believe me.

*~*~*

"_Mrs. Shepherd?" It was only the amazement that I was still being called that name that made me look up as I made my way to the Mt. Sinai daycare. I vaguely recognized the woman from bringing Vera here when both Derek and I had surgery, but I didn't know what issue she could possibly have with me._

"_Yes?" I answered as my eyes sought out my daughter. I knew the usually perfect Addison Shepherd must have looked a complete mess, with bruise-like circles under my eyes and hair mussed from spending too many hours bent over the toilet, courtesy of my second child._

"_I'm sorry to have to inform you of this, Mrs. Shepherd, but if Vera continues to act like she did today, I'm afraid she won't be able to … come here anymore," the woman told me._

"_I – what?" I asked. "Did something happen?"_

"_She, well, she'd been acting a bit strange, and it's frightening the other children. She has quite the imagination, but some of the things she tells the other kids just shouldn't be said."_

"_I sure there's just been a misunderstanding," I said desperately._

"_I'm sorry, Mrs. Shepherd, but your daughter is disturbed," she informed me, and as she did Vera appeared the doorway, her big azure eyes filled with tears._

"_THERE'S NOTHING FUCKING WRONG WITH HER!" I yelled. Of course, that wasn't strictly true. But a mother will defend her child until death and beyond. I took Vera's hand and pulled her away quickly. "Come on, baby, we're leaving."_

*~*~*

"Do you really think this is going to help anything?" I ask Addison as we settle in front of the computer. There is a slight awkwardness as we arrange ourselves, and I end up sitting in the chair with Addison perched in front of me. Our thighs brush and I am instantly distracted.

"I'm willing to try, for Vera," she says as she navigates to a site that allows you to research your ancestors. "Not that it will matter anyway. All of my family is crazy, just not in the right way." She enters our information anyway, hands flying over the keyboard, and we dive into times long past to find anything that could help our daughter.

There is no hint, no clue of schizophrenia in either of our families. Still, Addison continues searching; looking for a flicker of hope that someday things for Vera may improve. We discover how difficult school will become, how tricky it is to diagnose schizophrenic children because of ambiguous symptoms, and that medicine combined with therapy is really the only option open for us.

"It says here that … that some early onset schizophrenia patients have to be permanently hospitalized, and they stay there for the rest of their lives," Addison says in a strangled, tear stained voice. I scan the page she is looking at, dread sitting like stone in my belly.

"Well it … it also says that some schizophrenics go into full remission," I point out. "A small percentage, but it's something."

Addison sinks forward onto the keyboard, her shoulders slumped, and in my haste to comfort her, my hand finds her hip. Her body tenses in surprise and heat inflames my face, but I do not remove my hand for fear of breaking the current of passion and chemistry passing between us.

I know that Addison can feel it too, and she rises slowly, achingly, her body curving toward me gracefully. I thought her affair stole this from us, but apparently I was wrong. Her eyes, frightened, hopeful, determined, burn into mine, and I can feel want and lust gathering in the air, snapping and popping like electricity. And before I know what I'm doing, my hand cups her breast, caressing the skin underneath.

To say Addison looks surprised would be an understatement. Her raspberry red lips pop open, but she doesn't look upset, on the contrary, her eyes are dark and moist with desire. My thumb brushes the skin through her white silk blouse and I feel the outline of her lacy bra underneath. She inhales sharply as my thumb skates over her nipple, and then her lips are on mine, battling and consuming.

I guess I sort of … forgot what kissing Addison is like. The last time I did so was when we conceived the baby, nearly five months ago now. Her lips are almost painfully soft and they fit with mine in an epitome of perfection. It is not gentle, there is too much anger present, too much pent up emotion and things we are both unable to voice. Mark is forgotten. Meredith is forgotten, because in this garden of ardor Addison and I are the only ones who exist.

Then heaven is taken away in a tensing of muscles as Addison leans away with a reproachful look. "We shouldn't be doing this," she says. "Not with Vera and not with your girlfriend or whatever she is. I won't be second best."

She's gone before I have the chance to utter a single word about what just passed between us and I am left staring at the eerily glowing computer screen until I get up and let the steamy water of the shower try to pound some feeling back into me.

"Derek?" Addison calls two hours later when I emerge dripping wet from the shower, and I grunt my annoyance. "Derek!" Addison bursts into the bathroom, already dressed in her salmon scrubs. "I have to go operate on that TTTS case."

"Addison, I'm half naked here," I complain, gesturing at the towel wrapped around my waist and at my bare chest. "And I'm shaving."

"Whatever," she says. "It's not like I haven't seen you in less hundreds of times before." She stares at me, ocean colored eyes beseeching. "Derek, are you listening?" she asks as I struggle to pop open a new razor cartridge one handed.

"Yeah," I answer vaguely as I drag the new razor over my cheeks.

"Dr. Nguyen was worried about some pictures Vera drew today. He said they were … rather disturbing," Addison says, her voice laced with worry. "He showed me, and I … well, I'll just show you." She disappears and returns with a yellow manila envelope, which she places in my hands. My fingers slip over the opening and my hands shake as I full several sheets of paper. I think my heart misses a few beats when I see her drawings.

The pictures are drawn in crayon and not overly detailed, but I think in some ways, knowing that a child, _my child_, drew these makes it that much worse. In one I gaze out over a field of dead people, their bodies outlined in black crayon. The next is covered in skulls. Another has strangely twisted animals, and the last nothing but a big X. My head spins as I look at them.

"He put her on a twenty-four hour suicide watch, so I need you to be with her every minute," Addison says in a wobbly voice. "Do you hear me? Every minute!"

"Okay, okay, you don't have to nag me," I complain, trying to lighten the graveness that has overtaken the room and she purses her lips, frowning her signature Addison frown. I nudge her with my hip slightly, trying to bring out a smile, and she tries but the result is weak, more of a grimace than a smile.

I hear the door slam, signaling Addison's departure, and I intend to go seek out my daughter until the phone rings. "Mer," I say, and it feels like, as I begin to talk to Meredith, that I am almost switching personalities. There is the man I used to be in New York, determined, loving, hopeful and yet sometimes absent, and there's the man I am now, darker, betrayed, and yet pretending to be the charming McDreamy.

"Hey, I just got off work," she says. "We had the most gruesomely interesting case today…" I listen, grateful for the distraction of a glimpse into a life that isn't as screwed up as mine.

Vera trots out of the other room in an overlarge white shirt; her burgundy hair in erratic tangles. She tugs on my sleeve, trying to obtain my attention, her eyes huge in her pale face. I hold out my finger, signaling that I need a minute, but she persists, hanging onto my leg.

"One second," I tell her. "Daddy is on the phone. Can it wait until I'm done?" I don't wait for the jerky movement that I assume is a nod, or for Vera to tiptoe quietly back to her room. I figure she wants me to braid her doll's hair for her or something.

"Sorry," I say to Meredith. "That was Vera."

"How is she doing?" Meredith wants to know.

"As well as can be expected. The antipsychotics aren't having as much of an effect as we'd expected, but Dr. Nguyen is afraid to increase the dosage so soon because of the risk of depression and anxiety," I explain. "She'll be okay, though. She's a tough kid."

"I had a case with Dr. Bailey today with a redheaded little girl. She reminded me of Vera, but she only needed stitches for her forehead," Meredith says. If only everything were that easy, I think. If only all wounds could be healed with some sutures and a band-aid.

"So, I was thinking we could try that new little …" I trail off when I hear a thud, and I pause, listening closely. "Ver? Are you okay?"

"Derek? Is everything okay?" Meredith asks quickly, sounding sincerely concerned.

"Yeah …" I say slowly. "I was thinking that maybe we could try that new little Italian place near the hospital this weekend." My voice sounds disgustingly hopeful, like some geeky boy begging a model to go out with him.

"Derek, I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Meredith tells me hesitantly.

"What? Why?" I ask, agitation making my voice rise.

"Well, it's just that … I've seen the way you look at your wife, Derek. And I … love you, I do, but I'm not sure that you feel the same way about me, much as you might want to. I get that you're angry at Addison, and you have a right to be, but Vera needs you and when you're with someone as long as you were with Addison … I think you're going to forgive her eventually." Meredith's voice is full of defeat; like we've gone as far as we ever will go and now it's time to lay our relationship down to rest.

But I can't do that. Maybe a bigger person could, but me and Addison have been a mess for so long that I don't know how to fix us. We're a city of ruins being overtaken by nature. "Addison and I are over," I say.

"Have you signed the papers?" Is Meredith's response.

Silence.

"Right. That's exactly my point, Derek, I …" I cannot help the gasp that escapes my lips at the sound of breaking glass, and Meredith immediately stops talking. Dread steals over me like a cloud, and I disregard Meredith's questions as I walk quickly through Addison's apartment.

"Hello? Vera? You there?" I call, starting to run faster. I push open the door to her room and my eyes roam over her diaphanous hangings and lime green bed frame, over pink blankets tangled in sheets and flowers decorating every surface, over the desecrated dolls and stuffed animals and the lanterns that throw soft cherry light over the room. But Vera isn't in here.

I am fully sprinting now, and my heart is beating so fast I'm sure it will give out before I can find my daughter. Meredith's worried voice echoes in my ear but I've lost all senses except those needed to find Vera.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar and in my panic I push it a little too hard and it ricochets off the wall. Glass covers the floor; Vera must have accidentally knocked down Addison's crystal vase when she fainted. The red roses lie on the floor next to it. I drop the phone. It breaks against the cold, sterile white tile, screen cracked and plastic pieces disjointed.

In that instant, my world falls to pieces right before my eyes. Walls crash, buildings burn and I am possessed by that trancelike state that I thought only existed in dreams. Vera was my world. And I don't see any way she can still be alive.

"No," I moan. "Oh god no. No, no, no!"

It must be the body of my six year old in the bathtub, but I cannot tell because the entire tub has been flooded with blood. It has pooled around her extended arms, stained her red hair even darker, been smeared on the walls of the shower. I rebel against this sight. I cannot accept it.

My child just tried to commit suicide.

And then a broken, wretched sob escapes my lips and I fall forward onto my knees on the bloodstained floor. I do not have the strength to stand so I crawl desperately towards my daughter, not even noticing the shards of glass entering my palms and knees. What's a little more blood?

Vera is so still, too still as I bury my head in her shoulder. But there is not time for crying, only time for action. Jagged cuts run the length of her arms, still oozing blood. My new razor lies on the bottom of the tub beside her.

What could she have seen, to make her do this? If I had listened, could I have prevented it?

Her clothes are soaked in blood, and I pull them aside to try and get a pulse. I'm not sure, but I think I feel something so I strip off my shirt and press it over her wrists to keep whatever blood is left in her inside. Then I carefully lift her small body, trying not to notice that her skin is bone white and already cold.

My companions whisper in my ears, and for a moment I am sure that this is what it's like to be Vera. Guilt nearly stops my heart. Fear spurs me on, out the door and down the stairs of the apartment complex. Self-loathing laughs a dreadful laugh. Hope tells me just a few more steps. Anxiety rips apart my heart. Desperation keeps me going.

Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?  
'Cause I wouldn't believe you if you said the same to me.  
Near death, last breath, and barely hanging on.  
Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?

* * *

**Sorry, talk about a cliffhanger. I tried to capture Derek's indecision as well as Vera's struggles. Please tell me what you thought! :D**

* * *


	3. Chapter Three

**Skeptics And True Believers**

**Thank you, everyone for all the great feedback. I hope you like this chapter! There's a surprise for you at the end :)**

* * *

Someone, somewhere said some things  
that may've sparked some sympathy,  
but don't believe.  
Don't believe a word you've heard about me.

The rain pounds the roof of my car, like Nature itself is punishing me for my inattention. I accept the punishment, because I deserve it and if Vera dies there is no penalty that will be enough for me. My car door is still ajar as I transfer Vera's limp body into the seat next to me, my shirt still sticking to her bloody arms. I clumsily buckle the seat belt, thinking that with my luck we would get in a car crash. It takes me three tries to start the car, and then I am off with no regard to speed limits.

Addison sleeping with Mark is nothing in the face of this, because if Vera killed herself on my watch there is no way Addison will _ever _forgive me. She desecrated our marriage. I will have utterly destroyed both of our lives. The only thing I have to be thankful for is that Addison's penthouse is close to Seattle Grace.

As I drive, images pervade my mind, feeding the guilt that consumes me. Vera in a ribboned pink dress, bending over fluffy white cake at her seventh birthday, the birthday she may never get to now. Vera, strutting across the stage, eighteen years old and beautiful with a diploma in her hand. She may never even make it to high school, because of me. Vera gliding down the aisle in white, looking remarkably like Addison as I prepare to give her away to another man.

This tragic death cannot be her fate.

I pull up in a spot usually reserved for ambulances, not caring that this could result in serious traffic fines. Time stands still as I burst into the ER, my half dead and bleeding daughter in my arms.

"Shepherd?" I have to admire Bailey's calm competence. "What happened?"

I lay Vera down on the white gurney provided, trying not to notice how she stains it red, and whisper, "She tried … she tried to … she cut herself." I cannot bring myself to let go of the bed.

"Okay. Derek, listen to me," Bailey says as she tugs it from my hands. I think I realize in some tiny, unoccupied part of my brain that it is the first time she has ever used my first name. "We're going to do our best to save her, all right?"

They wheel her toward trauma two at breakneck speed, and I glimpse Izzie already inside as Bailey takes her in. I try to follow but find myself confronted by Burke's unmovable strength. "Derek," he rumbles. "You can't go in there."

"Yes I can," I pant. "I have to. I have to, because if she dies because of me …" I leave him to fill in the end of that sentence.

"Page Addison Shepherd," Burke commands a nearby nurse before turning back to me. "I cannot let you in there, Derek, I'm sorry. You know the rule about family; your presence could interfere with us saving her life." I ignore him and try to push in anyway, but he is several inches taller and stops me after a brief struggle. "Go sit down," he says. "We'll let you know as soon as we know anything."

Defeated, I sink against a wall nearby, remorse burning a hole through me. This must be a dream. It cannot be happening. Dr. Nguyen hurries in a minute later, tying on a scrub cap, and as he passes me he pats my shoulder briefly. Then he disappears into the room where I am not allowed to go.

Someone joins me in my silent vigil, and I look in surprise to find Cristina and George. "She's an amazing kid, Dr. Shepherd," George tells me. "She'll make it."

"Vera is young, her heart is strong," Cristina says, possibly believing this is actually some comfort to me. "The odds are in her favor." And, strangely, I do feel a bit better. At least until Addison rushes into the ER three minutes later.

"What happened?" she asks the room at large. "Derek, why was I called down here in the middle of surgery?" she wants to know. Her sharp eyes take in my tortured expression, Cristina and George's faces, and I can see her adding up the clues in her head, but she won't believe it until I say it.

"Vera," I manage after a minute.

"_What happened_? Don't mess with me, Derek. Just tell me where the hell my daughter is!" Addison's voice attracts the attention of doctors, nurses and patients alike, highlighting our catastrophe in too-bright, vivid colors.

"Vera … tried … to … commit suicide," I say in an anguished voice.

Addison's entire body goes rigid, and emotions flash across her face; disbelieving, panicked, angry, scared. It takes a minute for her to absorb this information. "No. _No_. You're … you're lying. She's at home. She's sleeping. She has to be!" Addison says, becoming more hysterical by the second, her salmon scrubbed form frozen in position. Denial in the face of her very worst fear is the only thing she has left.

"I'm sorry," I tell her.

"That just can't be … wait, you said she tried? So she's alive? Is she alive? God dammit Derek, answer me!" Addison yells.

"I don't know," I admit. "They wouldn't let me in …" But Addison completely disregards this. How she knows which door Vera is behind I have no idea, except for maternal instinct, I suppose. She bangs on the door, the wood frame completely supporting her weight, and the sight is heart-wrenching. Burke opens it, sees her, and tries to close it again, but Addison will not be denied.

"Vera! Get the fuck off me; I want to see my daughter!" In the end, it takes four men, Burke, Dr. Nguyen, Alex Karev, and a male nurse to restrain the hysterical Addison and return her to me, although I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with her.

"Where were _you_," she demands to my dismay a minute later. "I told you to watch her every minute!"

"I – I was," I stutter.

"Probably on the phone with your _girlfriend_," Addison accuses with vindictive contempt, throwing her arms in the air and her words ring so loudly of the truth that I do not deny it. "Well, I'm glad to know your daughter means _so _much to you Derek, that's just _lovely_!"

I think she's glad that there's finally something she can blame on me. At least that's what I tell myself, because it's agonizing to stomach Addison staring at me with so much hate. "It's not like I neglected her, I just …" But I have no real defense, and Addison shatters whatever excuses I do have.

"What about the word suicide did you not understand?" she wants to know.

"Look, Addie. I screwed up. I majorly screwed up and I doubt you hate me more than I hate myself right now," I say, trying to imbue my words with some sort of contrition she will actually believe.

Addison paces, hands threaded through her fiery hair, pulling and yanking, groaning from sheer frustration and helplessness. Every footfall is purposeful, although it takes her nowhere, and the soles of her expensive sneakers will be worn down by the end of the night. "You messed up?" she asks. "What about what I messed up, I was Satan then, huh? Dammit, if I could leave you right now like you left me I would do it a hundred times over."

"I know you would," I say, standing with my arms held out in surrender and taking a step closer to try and restrain her so all the doctors and nurses in this ER can get their work done without her yelling.

"How could you?" she yells a second later. "I've tried but I can't fucking understand how this happened!" Addison is not a violent person, although she does occasionally throw shoes at me when she's angry. So maybe she is. I'm not sure. But when she comes at me I grab her wrists so she cannot hit me like she so obviously wants to. We both stand there, panting, fear and anger dancing a tantalizing, barely balanced dance in our perceptions.

"If you don't stop this and calm down, you're going to lose the baby," I tell her quietly.

This finally seems to penetrate her angry maelstrom, deflating her rapidly, because losing two children is positively unthinkable. Addison sinks down beside me, and a river of tears replaces her livid curses. I didn't know anyone could sob that hard and given the choice I would have chosen never to see it. Addison's body heaves feebly; she is probably exhausted by her pregnancy and her surgery and her recent tirade, but I fear her tears will never stop as I maneuver her so she is lying in my lap.

We sit like that as minutes wax and wane, rearing their ugly, empty faces and still nothing is heard. That is good, I suppose, since it means Vera has not died yet, but also bad because it also means she has not been saved. Addison should have run out of tears and fallen into slumber long ago, but anxiety denies her the right and keeps her on edge. Me? I'm burning from the inside out.

It seems hours, but is probably only a few minutes, before Meredith shows up and makes her way over to us hesitantly. Cristina and George remain a few feet away, but Meredith ignores them and me, instead looking straight at Addison, who cannot summon up enough energy to glare. "Is there anything I can do?" she wants to know.

I shake my head mutely, and Addison doesn't reply at all. It feels strange that those who had eschewed us a few short weeks ago are proffering their aid now, but there is a lot strange about this night and all I really want to know or think about is my daughter being alive.

"She's going to be okay," Addison tells me about ten minutes later. "You know what Vera means? It means faith."

"It's just a name, Addison, it doesn't mean anything," I say thoughtlessly, and feel like an ass the next minute when she begins crying harder. Scrambling for something, anything I can do to repair the gaping hole I made in her assembled hope, I say what is probably the stupidest thing I could have said, besides my former comment. "Do we know whether it's a boy or a girl?" I ask, fingers skating tenderly over her bump.

"No," she sighs. "I was kind of waiting … or hoping, I guess, that you might become more involved and find out with me at the next appointment. I mentioned it, but you were really focused on some surgery …" Her voice is a brave attempt at nonchalance, but it doesn't quite make it. I remember that surgery. The reason I obsessed over it was because Meredith had finally spoken to me again that day after finding out about Addison. Just when I thought I could sink no lower.

"If Vera … when Vera gets better, we'll all go," I promise fervently, seeking to make up for even a fraction of the ground I have lost. "Do you have any ideas for names?"

"Well, I was thinking if it's a boy, we could name him Caleb, you know, after Dr. Nguyen, since he's helped with Vera so much. Caleb Christopher, maybe. If it's a girl … I want to name her Rosalie." I cannot do more than nod, my chin brushing Addison's ruby tresses as I do.

We are silent for a while, both trapped in macabre thoughts from which we cannot escape. "Her favorite color was pink," Addison says so softly that I cannot be sure that I have heard her.

"What?" I ask.

"Vera's favorite color. It was – it's pink. Her favorite animals are pandas," she says, sending the words out for all to hear.

"Are you … are you making a eulogy?" I ask, my voice cracking on the word.

"I'll never be able to do it if I don't do it now. If she dies, I just … it will be impossible. And it's better for me to walk in happier times, at least in thought, than to contemplate my daughter dying in there."

I don't know what to say to that, so I respond in turn, "She used to watch Monsters, Inc over and over again, and she still has all the words memorized."

"When she was three, she held up a sesame seed and asked me if we could plant a hamburger tree," Addison chuckles.

"She liked to watch thunderstorms from the balcony overlooking Central Park, no matter how many times we told her not to," I remember.

"Her first imaginary friend was named Lettuce. Except when she said it, it sounded more like 'Wettish,'" Addison says.

"Last Easter, when Weiss dressed up as the Easter bunny for her, she said 'Uncle Weiss, why are you wearing that silly costume?' She wasn't fooled at all," I sigh. If only time could be rewound. But time is like fire, greedily consuming every second, and they are never to be had again.

"She loved to dance alone in the living room, twirling around and around, when she thought no one was watching," Addison contributes.

"And she still will," comes a voice from above our position against the wall. It is Dr. Nguyen, exhausted and haunted looking, but there is something in his eyes, some flicker of hope that makes my heart soar.

_She still will. _Certainly that phrase has the significance I am imagining? What else could it mean, if not that? Still, hoping so desperately only to be let down would be indescribably excruciating.

Addison staggers to her feet; her ungainly shape, caused by the baby, nearly makes her lose balance. Dr. Nguyen catches her elbow before I can, and that's when it dawns on me. I want to be doing that. For the rest of my life.

If Addison lets me live, however. But if Vera survived, I suppose the odds are pretty good now.

"It's okay," Dr. Nguyen says to us. "It's going to be okay. Vera lost a lot of blood, and she coded three times, but she's stable now."

I hear the catch in his voice, disclosing to me and Addison that things are not as okay as he promised. "What aren't you telling us?" Addison asks, having noticed it also, and she steps forward, as if yanked by invisible strings toward our child.

"Vera is in a coma," Dr. Nguyen says in a steady voice. "We expect her to fully recover, and there won't be any brain damage or other side effects. We expect her to wake up in a few days; her body has been through an extremely traumatizing ordeal and is internalizing itself for protection."

I blink uncomprehendingly and inhale, wishing to dispel the dream-like quality of tonight's events. Addison, however, doesn't hesitate but pushes past Dr. Nguyen into the room. I follow, needing reassurance that I have truly not caused my daughter's death. What I see is infinitely more comforting than waiting for news, but still tugs at my heart. It's a wonder I can even see Vera in the midst of all those machines.

Addison drops into a chair by her bedside, and I can tell, from fourteen years of knowing her, that she desires to weep in relief but shock is preventing her. When I put a hand to my own cheeks, however, I find them wet. I fall into the chair on Vera's other side only to find the comfort of holding her hand penetrated by the surprise at finding white bandages running the length of her arms, all the way up to her elbows. My stomach twists, and I hold her hand but look away.

My eyes fall on Izzie, who is calmly filling out Vera's chart from her position in the corner, to the doorway, which is occupied by Richard, Dr. Nguyen, Burke, and another doctor I vaguely recognize but can't put a name to. I want remind Richard that I did not tell him he could get out of bed after his surgery, but I decide not to push my luck.

"Derek, Addison?" Dr. Nguyen asks gently. "I know that you must want to spend some time with Vera, but there's something else we need to discuss with you." What _now_, I want to ask, but I restrain myself.

The unknown doctor crosses the room and lifts Vera's arm, the one I'm holding. I want to pull it back from him, because there is something repulsive about a stranger touching Vera in this state. He yanks the sleeve of her thin hospital gown up to her shoulder. Small purple bruises pepper her arm. "Can you explain this?" he asks.

"Dr. Sigh," Dr. Nguyen says sharply, and I realize this is the first time I have ever heard him angry. There are a lot of firsts tonight. "We've been over this. It's already been established that Vera has some self-destructive tendencies. I've known Addison and Derek for a month, and I know they didn't do this."

"There's no way to know for sure," the other doctor argues, and in my rising hate and resentment I examine him more closely. He is short, an entire head shorter than Dr. Nguyen and I, and has swarthy skin and dark, tidy hair. He speaks with a slight accent, Indian, maybe? "The girl attempted to commit suicide. It may a sign of an unstable home life."

"How can you think that?" Addison asks. "We would never hurt her! I'm a doctor, for goodness sake, and so is my husband."

"And yet she committed suicide in your home when one of you was watching her," Dr. Sigh retorts.

"You can't keep track of children every second, nor shield them from every harm," Dr. Nguyen argues. "I've spoken with Vera. Any depressive and disturbing symptoms were a result of schizophrenia. You're not her doctor and that's all that's going to be said on the matter for now."

"Schizophrenia does not come out of nowhere!" Dr. Sigh practically spits. "It can be an indication of childhood abuse!"

I am about to make an angry reply when Addison stands up, her hand flying to her mouth, looking stunned. "It didn't come from nowhere," she says. "I know what caused it. I can't believe I didn't think of it before."

*~*~*

_When I was two and a half months pregnant with Vera, I became severely sick with the flu. It wasn't the normal, forty-eight hour version, where you watch TV and throw up a couple times. My temperature skyrocketed; I couldn't keep anything down and became dehydrated. And I hallucinated, which seems agonizingly ironic now._

_Mothers, when pregnant, pass on blood, nutrients, and many other things to the baby. I guess I passed on the hallucinations as well._

_Of course, that's not really how it works. But now I can't believe I didn't see it. Studies show that influenza during the first trimester of pregnancy causing schizophrenia is rare but increases the chance of the child having schizophrenia by 700%._

_I was so sick, even after the first four days, that I had to be hospitalized, a patient instead of a doctor. Derek stood dutifully by my side, fretting when I ran out of ice chips or moaned in the night. They kept fluids inside me and tried to reduce my temperature, but your immune system changes when you're pregnant, and mine couldn't shake the sickness._

_About two and a half weeks into it, they did an ultrasound to check on my developing baby. The first trimester is extremely crucial for a fetus. I was 12 weeks pregnant by that point, but Vera was alarmingly small._

"_You need to prepare her," My obstetrician told my husband. I think they assumed I was sleeping in the large white bed, sunlight spilling in through the window. None of my surroundings hinted at despair. "She's going to loose the baby."_

"_W-what?" Derek stuttered, collapsing beside me. "No. Addie's strong. She can do this."_

"_She's extremely weak, Dr. Shepherd, and that baby doesn't have much of a chance for survival."_

_But Vera did survive. I felt jubilant, so lucky to have escaped the sickness with Vera's life as well as my own. But now, six and a half years later, we are paying for that stroke of good fortune._

*~*~*

"Prenatal influenza is linked to schizophrenia," Dr. Nguyen says after Addison finishes her theory. "The problems usually manifest around seven, and Vera will be seven this year."

"That doesn't explain the bruises!" Dr. Sigh argues. "I'm contacting social services!"

"You will do no such thing!" Richard thunders. "This is _my _hospital and I have known Addison and Derek for twelve years! Neither of them would _ever _hurt that little girl there!"

Dr. Sigh steps back, left cowering by the awesome power of Richard's voice. "We are often most blind to those we love most," he says, and his expression as he backs over the door threatens that this battle isn't over yet. Burke, to my surprise, lays a hand on my shoulder, and Richard promises that everything will be all right. But everything won't be all right. Somebody's hurting Vera. And we might have almost lost her just to have her taken away again.

"Sorry about that," Richard apologizes. "Dr. Sigh lost his daughter last year in a mugging that went terribly wrong."

Maybe that's the reason for all the palpable abhorrence. My daughter was saved, his was lost, and he thinks I don't deserve it, after stringing along an intern and neglecting my wife and daughter. I don't delude myself that he hasn't heard the gossip.

Vera's comatose state continues, but she is as beautiful as an angel's plaything, her coma defying the fear and pain that have been her constant companions for years. The only movement in the room is her chest rising and falling slowly. Addison and I begin a relentless vigil that spans over several days. We sit on opposite sides of the bed, the wait creating a chasm between her pink-scrubbed form and my guilt-wracked body, still clothed in the jeans and bloody undershirt in which I hurried Vera to the hospital. We sit there hour after hour, thinking or perhaps wishing that our mere presence will break the spell.

The first four days are almost exactly the same. We make a daily ritual of watching Monsters, Inc. Izzie brings many home-baked goods, mostly cakes, and this is the only sustenance Addison and I consume. They're supposed to be for Vera, but they're so beautiful it seems a crime to let them go bad. Burke brings us updates. Cristina spews off encouraging statistics. Meredith hovers nervously, Bailey asks about Vera's childhood, George makes her balloons out of rubber gloves, Adele and Richard bring numerous presents to go along with all the others we are receiving, some from relatives, friends, or old patients.

And as our eyes meet, we have an understanding. Addison and I will sit here until our daughter wakes up, and when she does, we will spin a fairytale bursting of so much magic that she'll never want to leave again.

On the fifth day, however, Richard forces us home, recruiting Bailey's interns to take turns sitting in Vera's room lest she wakes. Addison resists, as I knew she would, but she follows me to my car after we are practically pushed out the door and into the torrential rain. The downpour hasn't stopped since the night I brought Vera in.

The ride to Addison's penthouse strongly resembles the one we took when she first got here, except there is no six year old in the backseat and we are silent for an entirely different reason. I want to speak, to say something comforting like that Vera will wake up soon, but instead I study Addison and the way the misty light shadows and highlights her face, how her beauty has become tragic. My fists clench on the steering wheel.

No words are spoken as we enter the apartment, soaked in dreariness now that Vera is absent. I sink onto the bed and hear the soft tumbling of water against the walls of the shower and Addison's exhausted body. She returns half an hour later, hair dark and dripping and wrapped in nothing but a towel, and I trade places with her.

There is a deep and terrible silence as we settle into the same bed for the first time in five months. Neither of us knows what to say, and sleep will not be summoned, no matter how hard we try. My body aches for Addison, but I am afraid to touch her and find her more breakable than she appears. But I feel something on my arm, a touch as light as a feather, and I turn and find her arm extended across the creamy whiteness of the sheets.

We shouldn't be doing it. Our daughter is in intensive care, in a coma, but maybe that's why we do it. Distraction, in the right setting, carries immeasurable value. Right or wrong, I trail my finger up Addison's arm and she shivers and rolls closer. Bare skin brushes bare skin, and I cannot contain myself upon discovering she is naked, petal-soft skin damp underneath the sheets. My hands glide over the contours of her body, her collar bones straining against the tight skin of her chest, our baby pushing out from her body, the ripples of individual vertebrae in her spine.

I push myself up on my elbows and Addison scoots under me. The bump is still small enough that she fits there. It's been five months and we both desperately need this. Our hearts are racing at a pace so fast that I know there is no halting now. Because as our lips touch, separate, and touch again, I find redemption. I press kisses along her jawline, her hands are exploring my chest but soon travel lower. We are losing ourselves in this ardent tangling of limbs and when I finally slide inside her and feel her gasp against the tender skin underneath my ear, something on this godforsaken earth is finally right.

We fall asleep as close as two people can be.

Addison is up the second dawn breaks the next morning and as we head back to the hospital, it is clear that something has changed, something has shifted. Addison brings several of Vera's things for when she wakes up, a few toys left undestroyed and her drawing materials, and as I take them from her so she can get out of the car, our hands touch and don't stop touching as we enter.

I'm sure it is the first thing Meredith notices when she comes to give us an update, or a non-update, really, because nothing has happened. I want to say something, an explanation perhaps, but Addison pulls me away before I can.

Vera is as pale and unmoving as ever as we settle in, Addison discards her coat and I pull out a clipboard on a case I was assigned before our familial crisis. The patient is post-op now, not a suture or neuron out of order, and Addison only stares at Vera, so I pick up her notepad, hoping not to find more disturbing drawings. It is the one she has taken to the Seattle Grace daycare on the few occasions we've left her here.

There is a child's writing, with no more than a year or two of experience on the margin of the first page on which Vera has drawn some tulips. I squint and then push the book away from me; it's not Vera's handwriting.

_Witch, _it says.

I bury my head in my hands. Why Vera? What the hell did she ever do wrong to anyone?

*~*~*

_The day Vera was diagnosed; we sat opposite the faceless psychiatrist, her head pressed up against my chest, her knee digging uncomfortably into the baby's domain. I expected her to notice, or ask why I was getting so big, but she didn't. All she saw were her visions._

_I had always known there was something different about her. Some of the looks she gave Derek and I were so knowing, and her moods were so capricious, that she could go from smiling to a tantrum in a few seconds. Vividly beautiful, like a little sprite with her strange intelligence, sometimes she didn't even seem human._

_The thing that sparked our trip to the psychiatrist, despite Derek's continued absence, was me coming home to find Vera tucked away in the corner of our balcony. I told Savvy she could leave and then knelt beside my daughter, relieved to see her playing again. But she wasn't playing, and my potted plants had been ransacked. Vera had made little green plant people, labeled them with the names of her classmates, and stuck pins in them, like some warped childhood form of voodoo. _

_I was so sure I had heard the psychiatrist wrong when he said, "Schizophrenia," in response to every single one of my questions. I did not know the extent of it then, but after watching the life be sucked from my daughter by the disorder I felt only despair._

_Schizophrenia. Derek would know what to do. Schizophrenia. Derek could fix it. But it wasn't Derek and I who fixed Vera; it was her who ended up fixing us._

*~*~*

Dr. Nguyen hurries in a few minutes later to examine it. He has been looking more frazzled by the day, his usually perfect hair mussed, and when I ask he reveals that his wife is expecting not one child, but triplets. He looks so overwhelmed that I hasten to reassure myself. "Are you sure there's only one in there?" I ask Addison.

"Pretty damn sure," she says sarcastically. "Congratulations," she tells Dr. Nguyen in a more amiable tone.

"Thanks," he says in an unsure voice. "Um, Addison, I was wondering … my wife and I were wondering, I know you have a busy schedule and people make appointments with you months in advance, but this is her first pregnancy and she isn't sure what to expect. Will you be her obstetrician?"

"Of course," Addison agrees. He helped save Vera, after all, and I didn't expect any other answer.

"Now, about Vera," Dr. Nguyen says. "She mentioned something one time about the kids at daycare, and I didn't read too far into it, but she said they made her tell them about her hallucinations. Not asked, but _made. _

"You think they did this?" I ask, eyebrows raised.

Dr. Nguyen is infinitely more careful with Vera's arm than Dr. Sigh was, and as I examine the purple marks more carefully, I see that some of them do indeed look like fingerprints. "I don't think they did this intentionally," Dr. Nguyen explains. "But if they grabbed her, and she tried to run or twist away …"

"Derek and I both had surgeries last week," Addison whispers. "We took her to daycare then, it was one of the only times we did so in Seattle."

"That doesn't explain the other marks though," I say. It can't elucidate the bigger blotches that are found on her legs and abdomen as well.

"It's impossible to know for sure until I talk to Vera, but the bigger bruises almost look … self-inflicted," Dr. Nguyen tells us. "Like she was trying to get something off her, or something." I hate to admit it's possible, but it's better than the alternative, which is Vera being taken, which is still a very real possibility if we can't prove anything.

What had Vera said on the day we met Dr. Nguyen? _"Stop it, stop it, stop it! Go away! They're here for me!"_

My archenemy, and Vera's godfather, coincidentally, arrives on the sixth day of her coma. Mark's stance in the doorway resembles that of a soldier sneaking through rival territory, not a man entering a hospital room.

I cannot help myself. "Ah, the prodigal adulterer returns," I sneer. I try to restrain the wild hate that rises in me, the desire to pound Mark to a pulp. The only thing that keeps me from doing it is the fact that Mark was right all along: I abandoned my wife and neglected my daughter.

Mark, to his credit, isn't fazed. He looks the same as he did when I found him in bed with Addison five months ago, still the bad-boy good looks and leather jacket (the same one I stepped on that night?), except there is something different in his ice blue eyes. It's concern, and it's for _my _daughter.

Mark holds out the flowers he is carrying, which are, to my dismay, blood red roses. My mind drifts automatically to that color dripping out of Vera's arms before I can control it. I stand to receive them, because Addison doesn't look like she's going to move any time soon.

"I just want to make sure she's okay," Mark says gruffly, unearthing a stuffed panda and an enormous box of chocolates to go along with the flowers. He looks like he wants to say more, probably something about how I should take better care of Vera, but he doesn't. Instead he turns his eyes to Addison.

"Thanks, Mark," she murmurs, barely able to look at him.

"Addison," he says. I do not want to hear the things contained in her name when he says it, but when she doesn't respond he heads for the door. "Hope she wakes up soon."

The next words that fly out of my mouth are of their own accord, because _I _never made any conscious decision to say them. But I call after Mark, "Did you see the Yankees game on Sunday?"

"Yeah," he answers, clearly surprised. "It was a good game." And I'm not completely sure, but I think someday maybe I'll forgive my brother. Addison rolls her eyes at us.

On the seventh day, everything changes, and it doesn't change. I don't know how to explain it. I think it starts when Addison sits up suddenly, nearly banging her head on the IV, her hand on her stomach. "This baby's as annoying as you are," she mutters, but her hand finds mine and for the first time, I feel my second child move.

Then we kiss. I'm not sure how it happens, but oh, what a kiss. Her lips press insistently against mine, her hair cascades over my shoulders, and rational though leaves as I take her into my arms. It is a good thing Vera doesn't wake up. Addison trembles after it, and she doesn't seem to know what to do with herself. "Don't do that," she says, "unless you're going to keep doing it forever."

"Oh, I plan to, Mrs. Shepherd," I say with a wicked grin.

She raises an eyebrow. "In fact, I plan to be doing it for the rest of forever," I continue.

"Forever is a very long time, Derek," she says quietly.

"I knew the day I met you that it was going to be forever. Maybe I lost sight of that, maybe we both did, but I haven't forgotten." It is in moments such as these when Addison is most vulnerable, her impressive fortress walls taken down so I can see into her soul. And when our lips meet again, I know I've made the right choice.

On the eighth day, Vera wakes.

Don't be so scared, it's harder for me. Don't be so scared.

* * *

**Don't worry, this isn't the end. There is going to be one more chapter, since this got too long. So yay! Celebrate! You review, I write. Also, the reason for Vera's attempted suicide will be explained.**

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	4. Chapter Four

**Skeptics And True Believers**

**Originally, this was actually going to be a one-shot, but I couldn't do it justice in that amount of space, so it became a three-shot and then a four chaptered story. I want to thank everyone for their amazing support and I hope you enjoy the last chapter!**

* * *

Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?  
'Cause I wouldn't believe you if you said the same to me.  
Near death, last breath, and barely hanging on.  
Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?

We are eating one of Izzie's cakes, so intent on letting the spongy, sweet pastry distract us from the excruciating waiting, that neither of us notices when Vera's eyelids flutter, her dark eyelashes quivering as she blinks. Addison transfers another large bite of the pink cake to her mouth, getting a dab of white frosting on the red perfection of her upper lip. I lean forward to wipe it and that's when I notice my daughter barely waking.

Addison leans in as well, perhaps under the impression that I am about to kiss her, but I stand up quickly when I see Vera moving and Addison loses her balance and falls forward, nearly knocking me over.

"Derek!" she exclaims. "What was that?"

"Shh," I tell her, moving quickly to Vera's bedside. "Honey?" I whisper, pushing a lock of red hair out of her face.

"Daddy," she sighs, and the terrible tension that has held my heart captive relents, allowing me to fully be able to breathe again. "Are you eating cake?"

"Yeah, baby, we're eating cake," I chuckle. "Izzie made it for you. Do you want some?"

Vera nods, but as I turn away to get her a piece, the memories crash down on her and her lip begins to tremble. Within seconds her entire body is shaking with sobs, diamond tears dripping down her rosy cheeks to stain the overlarge hospital gown. I reach for her but she leans away. My daughter doesn't want me and I cannot breathe. I want to reach for her, and comfort her from whatever phantoms haunt her, as is my job as a father, but I restrain myself from making her more alarmed.

Addison moves quicker than I would have believed, her Marc Jacobs heels cast carelessly aside as she climbs up onto the bed behind Vera. Vera looks startled by the sight of the white coverings of her own arms but it doesn't stop her from snuggling up to my wife and burying her head in the wool top that bares her shoulders tantalizingly and outlines the growing life inside her. Vera is incoherent as the words she attempts to convey to us are lost in her wordless tears, and jealousy swallows me as Addison holds our daughter tightly in her arms, as if that could keep her disjointed mind together.

"What, honey?" Addison asks as Vera chokes over whatever she is so desperately trying to tell us.

"I didn't want to. I didn't want to. They made me," she sniffles.

"Okay, it's okay. They're never gonna touch you again, baby," I tell her from my chair at the bedside, still a comfortable distance away.

"That's what you said when you came here, Daddy. But you lied," Vera states in the lifeless voice I have come to incessantly dread.

"I – the medicine was supposed to -" But there is really no excuse I can offer, nothing I can say this time to make it better.

"They were dead people. They were taking me, Momma. And I said no, just like you told me but they still came and they made me …" Vera says into the warm comfort of Addison's shirt, her little nose pressed between her chest and the baby bump. She frowns, pushes herself back, and feels the roundness that has become Addison's stomach.

"Mommy, why are you fat now?" Vera giggles, and relief encases me, relief that Vera is finally living in the right world again, even if it is only for a second.

"I'm not fat, sweetie … I'm …" Addison wrinkles her nose at the word 'fat' and takes one of Vera's hands. I make a grab for the other, but Vera pulls it away from me, her expressionless eyes not leaving my face. "Mommy is having a baby. A little brother or sister for you."

Vera's mouth pops open curiously, her hand exploring the curved skin, grappling with this concept of new life. She gasps as Addison's skin ripples and the child inside her squirms in its enveloped home. "I want a baby sister," she says.

"Well, you can't exactly choose, honey," Addison tells her, stroking the brilliant hair that has become rumpled after eight days in a coma. We refused to even consider stopping life support, but after eight days I can tell exhaustion drenches her delicate limbs.

"How did the baby get there, Mommy?" For a second, Addison and I get a glimpse of how life would be if Vera was a normal kid, her childhood untroubled and her development undisturbed. While other parents might cringe away from such a question, I revel in its ordinariness, because nothing about Vera's existence has ever been regular or easy.

"Let's talk about that later," Addison says with a small smile, and I can see the twinkle inhabiting her eye as she smirks at me. "Vera, about what you did – if you _ever _think you need to do that again, I need you to tell us."

"I tried to tell Daddy," she says, and I speculate, in an offhand kind of way, if you can die from guilt.

"Vera," I say, my voice interlaced with seriousness. I fall to my knees beside her bed, refusing to be distracted by the fact that Addison's skirt is riding up and I can see below it, and Vera leans forward cautiously. "I owe you an apology," I say sincerely. "I will never forgive _myself_ for not listening to you, but if _you _can forgive me -"

"I forgive you, Daddy," Vera states, her head cocked to the side, and her fingertips graze my unshaven cheek. The whiteness of the bandages is blinding, an inescapable scar on our family that will never truly fade. Her words set me free from a prison of remorse, but she will forever hold the key to the prison, a trump card that she doesn't not yet comprehend the value of.

It was _going _to be one of those picture-perfect, happy family moments that we achieve so rarely, but before it can attain the required aspects, the door is pushed open to reveal Dr. Sigh, two important looking representatives and a police officer. "Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd?" a suited representative inquires.

"It's Drs," I snap, rising to stand in front of my wife and child.

"We need to speak to you privately, and until further notice, a doctor or nurse must be present in the room while you are visiting your daughter," the man tells us sternly. "Dr. Sigh, if you could have someone sit with the child, as I understand she is still on suicide watch …"

"Of course," Dr. Sigh replies, unclipping his pager. He is straight-faced, inexpressive, and yet his air of victory makes me wonder why exactly he has it out for me and Addison so bad. His dead daughter is no longer a valid excuse.

"You – you can't do this," Addison says faintly, tucking Vera's limbs under the blanket as she rises, and anger mounts inside me as all four of the men's eyes travel up her creamy legs as she struggles to stand. "Dr. Webber and Dr. Nguyen said …"

"Dr. Sigh reported possible child abuse, so Dr. Webber's authority is compromised," the officer tells us. "We need you to come with us right away, please."

"Don't leave!" Vera shrieks in opposition to his words. I am being tugged apart, split straight down the middle between love and law. "Daddy! You promised you would never leave me again!"

I had promised her that, and after pretending she didn't exist for two months and neglecting her to the point of suicide (it sounds worse said like that), I feel like I'm running out of second chances with her, like someday she'll look at me and all she'll see is a line of all the times I've let her down. "I'll be right back," I promise.

"What if they get me?"

Addison is already standing by the door, her forearm imprisoned by the rough grip of the police officer, but I can see her straining against her bonds, her arm bloodless and white from the struggle. "Now, Dr. Shepherd," the officer snaps threateningly, and Vera, who has scooted to the edge of the bed and flipped onto her tummy so her feet can reach the floor, flinches but still attempts to make her way off the bed and over to us.

"Vera, no!" I shout desperately. "Don't get out of bed, baby, your IV -"

But it is far, far too late for that. As Vera rushes at me and Addison, unsteady on legs that have lain dormant for eight days, the IV is ripped from her hand, the trickle of blood an echo of what her arms had looked like before. She cries out in pain and I lunge toward her, managing to capture her hand before the policeman releases Addison in favor of me.

Chaos erupts – they interpret my sudden movement toward my daughter as more violence and page security, who have the unpleasant task of separating me from my screaming, struggling child. Vera is shouting as we are taken away, left in the presence of strangers who are indistinguishable, to her, from the wraiths that haunt her visions. Reality used to be a sanctuary, but now her phobias have leaked into our life too and neither place provides her with safety or sanity. Addison is knocked to the side, her lithe form bending the wrong way, and as I am forcefully escorted I notice her arms cradling her belly, perhaps reassuring the little life inside.

Bailey, Richard, Dr. Nguyen and George all arrive within the span of a few seconds. George and Bailey head for Vera, stroking tangled curls and smoothing rumpled gowns and checking bandages as they steer her back to the bed. She is still crying, and the nightmare once again gobbles up reality, just when I was sure it was banished.

Nobody speaks as we traverse the crowded halls to the conference room. I thread my way through the moving bodies toward Addison, who has tears coursing down her face silently and her hands still around her bump, and I catch her eye and ask silently if she's in pain. She shakes her head and for a second, her mask slips and I see her terror-filled expression, tormented eyes wondering how this could have gone so wrong. Dr. Nguyen and Dr. Sigh emanate fury in equal quantities, albeit for different reasons, and I can tell by each individual footstep of Richard's that he is beyond livid.

We all arrange ourselves around the table, and Addison rests her swollen feet on the edge of my chair. Richard, Dr. Sigh, Dr. Nguyen, the two social workers, and two security guards convene around us. "According to Dr. Sigh, Vera has some ambiguous bruises that her parents were unable to explain satisfactorily," one of the social workers begins.

"As I have already told Dr. Sigh, Addison, Derek, and Vera have visited the top children's psychiatrist on the west coast and he found no indicators of abuse. In due time, after Vera had recovered from her ordeal, we planned to investigate the cause of the bruises." Richard's voice adds to the overall chill of the room, and in my mind I can see the frost of bitter, unwanted feelings coating Addison's hair, covering Dr. Sigh's shoulders, forming on the tip of Richard's nose.

"I saw a child in a situation that could possibly prove harmful to her health and I acted as I saw fit!" Dr. Sigh retorts heatedly.

"You're making this _personal_, Dr. Sigh. Doctors at this hospital do not make cases _personal_," Richard booms. "You thought you saw something and you pushed and now I have an inconsolable, mentally unstable child, a father who's sick with worry, and a five month pregnant mother who is having unnecessary stress put on her unborn child."

"We did find some possible explanations for the bruising," Dr. Nguyen says quietly. "We think the smaller fingerprint bruises, which are too small to be Addison or Derek's, by the way, were caused by Vera's peers when they became a little too eager in interrogating her about her visions. As for the larger ones … it seems that Vera may have done that herself. She has spoken several times about trying to get things 'off of her.'"

"Very well," one of the social workers replies. "We will talk with Vera ourselves and see if she indentifies your theories of the true cause of her injuries. But the previously mentioned conditions still stand – until we have reached a conclusion, neither Addison nor Derek may be in Vera's room unaccompanied." They both stand up to leave, accompanied by Dr. Nguyen, to go pick apart my daughter's head to find a truth I already know, and Richard dismisses the security guards as well as Dr. Sigh.

Addison, who had been sitting erect and still throughout the duration of the interview, slumps in her chair in defeat. I lace my fingers through hers, and she gives me a wan smile. Richard's head is nestled in his hands, his body drooping over the table. The conference room is comfortable, bland, as stereotypical as possible, and it does not reflect the wrecked and ruined canvas of my life.

Addison and I are mere moonlight shining on the gate of the ocean that is Vera's fate. We illuminate her path as well as we can, and try to bathe her in comfort and safety, but the truth is there are so many other competing factors that our impact is limited.

Stone statues, exhibiting fluidity and movement even in utter stillness, are more mobile than Addison and I. Richard disappears after his hand ghosts across the top of Addison's head and pats my back, and the soup that arrives ten minutes later, via an extremely wary Meredith, was obviously sent by him. I am not totally unfeeling, so I acknowledge that seeing Addison and I so obviously but not visibly united must be painful for her. But I am not really in a state where anything I say will make a difference, so I simply nod as she sets down bowls of soup from the cafeteria and Cristina follows her with coffee and juju.

We have a curious audience composed of bored doctors, gossip-hungry nurses, and inquisitive interns, all lurking outside the conference room wondering what has gone wrong in the life of the Shepherds _now_, but Addison rests her head on my shoulder and for a moment, it is only us two. We occupy a world untouchable by any other sentient being, there's just me and her and the hope that our daughter will not be taken from us.

"They can't," Addison says softly, the words taking an unusually long time for my brain to register. "They can't take her, there's just no way."

The problem is that there _is _a way. Vera is six, and six-year-olds oftentimes find words flying out of their mouths that do not match the meaning they intended. All it takes is one implication, one hint of harm for custody to be called into question.

"You're right," I agree, because we're Addison-and-Derek and this is just what we do. "I can't imagine them finding justification for taking her away." There is unspoken fear for our nameless unborn child as well, a child that has not received the care and attention before birth that it ought to have in light of Vera's issues.

Only one thing is clear: Waiting is a vindictive bitch.

We both jump when Addison's pager and then mine begin going wild, and I am on my feet before I am even sure that it is Vera's room number. But it is, and a bright smile graces her flawless face when she sees us at the door.

"Mommy! Daddy! Guess what, I told all these people about my sister!"

"Remember, we're not sure it's a girl, honey," Addison says gently, moving forward gracefully to sit beside her child. No one makes a move to stop her, and I marvel at this turnaround, that my daughter is showing actual emotion and we are not barred from Vera's room. As I shadow my wife, moving towards the bed, one of the social workers even smiles at me.

"Vera confirmed the sources of her injuries, and after talking with her our only concern is the impact of your possible divorce," he tells me, and Vera's azure eyes grow wide as coins, the pleading expression in them heartbreaking. She's more observant than I gave her credit for.

"We are certainly not getting a divorce," I say firmly. It is one of those moments when tangible happiness sprouts from every pore of my being, and I wonder if this level of euphoria is legal. Sure, nothing is perfect – but that's the beauty of life, finding perfection in all the imperfections.

Besides picking up a new type of antipsychotics from Dr. Nguyen, the only thing Addison, Vera and I do is curl up on Addison's heavenly comfortable bed. Vera's head rests on my chest, her knees touching the bump that is her sibling, and Addison and my legs mingle under the down comforter. We all lay there, Vera in pink footie pajamas, Addison in my pajamas, and me in my coziest sweats, reveling in the miracle that is our family. We don't move for the entire rest of the day.

The truly remarkable thing about life is that even when you're sitting in wreckage that you have yet to rebuild, everything moves forward. Addison and I interview ten different teachers at seven different schools before we find an environment in which Vera will hopefully thrive. Addison ironed the little plaid uniform, as is required at Seattle's top private school, endlessly until we were almost late. Vera's crimson hair nearly reaches her waist and Addison has tied light pink bows in it. She looks like a redheaded angel.

The teacher, Mrs. Adams, smiles as we approach, and Vera smiles shyly back. Her classmates look curious but not nosy or prying, and I manage to feel somewhat okay with leaving her here. Vera kisses me, Addison, and the large bump that is the baby before bouncing forward to embrace her new life.

*~*~*

Both of Vera's hands are held tightly and securely as we tow her along to her first dance class. I hold one, but it's not Addison holding the other; she is lying on the couch being fawned over by my mother and sisters, the baby three days overdue. Holding Vera's other hand, muscled form slightly uncomfortable in this role, is Mark.

There are some things that, no matter how hard you try, can never truly be broken, and the Derek-Addison-Mark friendship turns out to be one of them. Mark joined us in Seattle, bringing promises of fame and revenue to Richard. I was absolutely livid and Addison was extremely uncomfortable, but in time, we adjusted, and the glaring matches that took place in the halls became rarer until they ceased to exist.

It took Mark and I three hours to pin Vera's long ruby curls into the bun required by the ballet studio, but I persevered, knowing how badly she wants to dance. She donned the pink leotard and white tights, purchased by Addison, so proudly it was infectious, and Mark, Addison and I clapped as she did a trial pirouette.

Now, as we enter the dance studio, her small form trembles, I can feel it in my hand that she clasps so tightly. After a few minutes of wandering, Mark and I locate the correct room and walk our six-year-old ballerina up to the teacher. The woman stares at the jagged red lines that run the length of her arms, left bare by the leotard. I'm used to this, because it happens everywhere we go and because the scars, even after numerous ministrations, have only faded slightly; time will be the only true alleviator.

But Vera lets go of our hands and skips forward with almost the vigor and excitement she used to possess, and as usual, I am forced to leave her to fend off all the questions and inquiries, as she has had to learn to do. The other girls stare from their clump, sensing, perhaps, Vera's otherworldliness, and I have to nudge Mark to get him to leave. Sometimes, you can only do too much to help a child, and then any more will harm them. It's a tough lesson to learn, especially when I want to bundle her in the car and speed away from all this hurt.

Rosalie Shepherd is born ten hours later, and her resemblance to Vera is unmistakable. Addison curses me during the delivery, although not as much as the first time, and I note the progress, a third child already hovering at the back of my mind. Vera stares at the baby once she has been taken from Addison's body, full of awe but also jealousy, for a perfection she will never have. For although Vera and Rosalie are exactly identical, except for the fact that Vera has my dark curls, there is no dark hint of schizophrenia in my newborn daughter.

As I hold her, the first one to do so besides the nurse, I wonder how I ever fathomed giving up this bundle of beauty, her blue eyes intent on my face although such focus in a newborn is unusual, and her tiny hand, each miniscule digit perfect as it brushes the slight stubble of my chin.

I think it annoys Vera that Addison and I refuse to leave her alone with Rosalie. She enjoys spending time with her little sister, running her hand over the fabric covering her tummy, touching the midnight fluff that decorates her head, and later taking the little hands when Rosalie begins to walk at eight months old, her development racing along at a pace opposite of Vera's. I cannot help following along as Vera helps Rosalie toddle, not wanting to make the same mistake a second time.

One time, while we watch Rosalie and Tuck, Bailey's son, play on the same grass, both babies lovely but Rosalie's ethereal beauty unmistakable, I become fully aware of Vera's discomfort. As we sit on the porch, warmed by the sparkling, fey light of summer and Addison scoops a giggling Rosalie up and begins to apply pale pink polish to her nails, Vera sighs.

"What's up?" I ask my daughter, who sits with her head cradled dejectedly in her hands.

"I wish I was perfect like Rosalie," Vera whispers.

I hurry to tuck an arm around her, pulling her skinny frame to my side. "Nobody's perfect," I tell her, "although all babies have a certain charm. But it's people's flaws, not their perfections, that make them truly beautiful. You love people despite and because of their faults, because without them, they're not truly human."

*~*~*

_I first came to Seattle full of despair, worried that my marriage and my daughter's childhood were over. But life is funny, because although it can put you through a meat grinder, you somehow come out fine on the other side, bouncing back from things you had deemed impossible._

_Vera's new antipsychotics are much more potent, and although they cause her to be slightly more irritable at times, spinning tantrums out of the most ludicrous situations, it is a small price to pay for the lack of visions, injuries, and suicidal tendencies. And although there will always be something that sets her apart, and although she hasn't succeeded in making a friend yet, Derek and I are optimistic about the future._

_Our marriage evaded a minefield of disaster and ends up stronger than ever. Communication, though to some appears minimal and short, is really done through wordless glances and soft touches, because devastating as our fall was, it gives Derek and I an unprecedented understanding of the other._

_Dr. Nguyen's wife, Anna, gives birth to a healthy set of triplets with my help. Two of them are fawn-haired boys who already resemble their father, but the third and smallest one, the only girl, has hair as brilliantly red as roses. This is inexplicable in the biological sense, because Dr. Nguyen has brown hair and his wife has honey-blonde and there are no recessive genes to account for it, but some things must be explained by God, spirituality, fate; whatever you believe in. They name her Vera._

_Derek stays friends with Meredith, but I don't mind, because he comes home first to ravish me everyday. It is after one of these times, the afterglow still radiant and evident (we pray that Rosalie and Vera are still occupied with their movie), that Derek mentions it._

"_You want to go back to New York?" I ask as his hand caresses my bare skin, still covered by a soft sheen of sweat from our lovemaking. Truthfully, I can see the allure. Seattle has been good for us, but New York is our home._

_He shrugs, the motion pushing our bare bodies even closer together, and desire rises in me again. "Yeah, I'd like to, if you're okay with it. I miss it. Mark will be annoyed about having to move again, though."_

"_Okay," I say. "We can go back. But not until Brooklyn is born."_

"_All right," Derek whispers, his lips brushing mine as he rolls me over again, careful of our third girl growing inside me._

Would you believe me if I said I didn't need you?  
Cause I wouldn't believe you, wouldn't believe you now.

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**The end ... or maybe not. While this story is done for now, there is a possibility I might write a one-shot sequel in the future. Would you be interested in that? Let me know!  
I would be eternally grateful for one last review telling me if you were satisfied with the end :D :D**

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